Page 50 of Pet

He’shappy.

Smiling, I sit next to him on the bed and pat my thigh. He immediately throws himself onto me, his face pressed against my jeans and his butt in full-on wiggle mode now as I reach down his back and, with my finger, I trace the mark I carved into his flesh, lightly enough that I don’t disturb the fragile scab.

Fuck, he’s absolutely adorable.

When my mind ponders if Carter ever got this reaction from him, I shove that thought away. It doesn’t belong here between us. Not now, anyway.

This isus, and this has to be built from the ground up.

Blood and sweat and tears and maximum effort from both of us.

I thread my fingers through his hair and gently massage his scalp. “Any regrets or second thoughts?”

He vigorously shakes his head and presses his mouth against the top of my thigh. I feel the warmth of his breath even through the denim.

“Good boy. New rule, pet. Unless I saytais-toi, or give you an equivalent nonverbal command, you are allowed to speak. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.” I’ve started teaching him a few commands I want him to know.

I rub his scalp a little harder. “You can useMasterwhen we’re alone,Sirany other time. And you can saySirany time, if it’s just like what you said now, in response to a question. No punishment for slips, either. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

I smile, because he’s already desperately eager to please me.

I pat the top of his head. “S’asseoir.”

He sits up on his knees, butt on his ankles, his gaze focused on me.

I’m flying by the seat of my pants here. These commands will change, but for now I need to mold him to me, and I’m damn sure not going to use German on him, or use the same names for the positions that Elsa used. I want him associating everything withmenow.

“Good boy.” I cup his face in my hands. “How many passports do you have? Valid ones, without your real name on them?”

“Four: Germany, France, Italy, and Thailand.”

I relax. “Can the French one pass an immigration highway checkpoint without a second look?”

“Yes, Master.”

I’m already tweaking my plan in my head. “Where are they?”

“Safe deposit box in Berlin.”

Fuck.

“But if you have the key and box number,” he adds, “that’s all you need. They don’t check IDs. The box isn’t in my name, and it’s not traceable back to me.”

“Good. Where’s the key right now?”

“Hidden in my flat.”

“In Berlin?”

“Yeah.”

Dammit. “Okay. I can’t risk moving you without papers. I reported you liquidated. If you suddenly ping as alive on your real passport, we’re both targets.”

He nods.